Tales of Slytherin House
by Larathia
Summary: A werewolf cub is admitted to Hogwarts, and is sorted into Slytherin...sort of an alternative view of the HP world.
1. A Werewolf Cub in Hogwarts

Just past Midsummer, the stars bright overhead, the moon a bright circle pouring ghost white light into the trees.

A swift-moving stream, water rushing over rocks, splashing in diamond glitters into little pools of radiance.

And wolves. Many, many wolves.

There were roughly three dozen of them, from grizzled elders to half-grown pups, lolling in a relatively clear place near the water. Sometimes, one would yawn, displaying long sharp wolf fangs. Most of the adults were content to watch the pups play, or to nap. They had just eaten very well; feathers were just about everywhere - including poking from wolf jaws.

Over all of them a huge shaggy black furred wolf kept watch, perched on a fallen tree. His mate, a smaller gray-furred wolf, was drinking from the stream and occasionally batting at rambunctious pups who thought her tail was a great toy.

A cinnamon furred pup was playing a fierce game of tag with a leaf; when in a fit of playfulness he batted it near the gray-furred female she pinned it to the ground with one firm paw. Bent her head to examine it, blinked pale blue eyes.

The gray furred wolf reared and shifted, becoming a gray-haired young woman in a pale blue gown. She turned the 'leaf' over and over in her hands, her expression puzzled, as her change caught the attention of every wolf nearby.

She ignored all of them, stepping gingerly on the rocks toward her mate.

"It's a letter," she said. "Look, it has wax on it. Can anyone here read?"

* * *

Marrok tugged at the fastening of his robe, making a face. "I'll never eat owl again," he snapped.

Bardulf, a lanky man with wavy brown hair, grinned. "Owl season is a good time," he corrected lightly. "We were expecting them soon anyway. You're the right age - about two winters before the mate-choosing - so of course there are owls."

Marrok stared at the ground, black curls obscuring his eyes but not his scowl. "So if it happens to everybody, why do I have to go?"

Bardulf only shrugged. "Because your father told you to?" he said, and when Marrok bared fang he gave the boy a sharp rap on the top of his head. "None of that!" he snapped. "We're not with the pack any more, you behave!"

"Owwwwww," said Marrok, rubbing at his head. "You still haven't answered my question."

Bardulf paused, turned a more serious expression on the boy, knowing Marrok would pay attention. Bardulf was one of the pack's two Betas, and had won the job through cunning. "You want my guess?" he asked. "Urlach doesn't tell us why he does things, Marrok, but I think I know - if you want to hear."

Marrok tugged at the cloth of his sleeve as if it irritated him. "Better than nothing," he said in a surly tone.

"Because you're his son, and unless you become very strong - or grow a great deal - you'll never make Alpha after him," said Bardulf simply. "If you go to..." he paused, trying to remember, "Hogwarts, yes - the school - you'll probably learn new tricks you can use in a succession fight."

"Wizards use wands," said Marrok. "It said so in the letter, I'm supposed to carry a wand. What good is that?"

Bardulf shrugged, regarded the small pouch of coins that were all the pack had of human coinage. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe the wand just helps?" He sighed. "Urlach said you're to be fully equipped to go to this Hogwarts, and for the life of me I can't figure these metal things out. "

"Good," said Marrok, turning around. "Then we can go back to the forest and call this one of my dad's dumber ideas and everything's - urk!"

Bardulf, his hand very firmly around some of Marrok's curls, scowled at the boy. "Obey your alpha, boy!" he snapped. "I'll figure the metal bits out, and take more from the wizards if I have to. You do what you're told!" He peered myopically up at a sign that had a picture of a stick on it. "Ol...li..van...der's..." he read slowly. "Wands. You said you needed one of those, right? Come on, let's get one."

"I'm not a dog!" squeaked Marrok, trying to get Bardulf's hand out of his hair. "Nobody's making me play fetch with some stupid stick!"

"Obey - your - alpha!" snarled Bardulf, struggling to get the stubborn boy into the shop without breaking anything.

* * *

Marrok's nose twitched as he entered the castle that was Hogwarts. It was the only part of himself he was allowing to twitch. He knew perfectly well that if he'd had a tail it would be curled right between his legs, and was briefly grateful that manshape had no such obvious signals of fear.

He'd been consistently terrified since being abandoned at the train station by his Beta. Trains were huge, smelly, and made an unholy racket, and the trick to get onto the right platform he'd managed completely by accident - while dodging someone else's cart.

Marrok did not like trains. Not at all. He wanted to find a compartment and curl up and hide from whatever denizens might find such a place home, but that was not proper behavior. Marrok son of Urlach, Alpha of the Black Forest Pack, was not to be seen as weak. That would reflect badly on the Pack, and on his father, and it had - finally - been firmly impressed upon him that he was going to Hogwarts as an ambassador. No one from the Pack had studied wizardry in generations, most of the spells long forgotten, and Urlach did not want Dumbledore thinking the werewolves _needed_ any of this muttering and waving of wands.

So Marrok sat very stiffly in his seat, staring out of the window at the scenery, and did his best to hide his absolute terror of buildings that moved and roared along metal tracks. That was the easy part. The boats were much harder; sit too stiffly and you unbalanced the craft. But if he didn't keep a grip on himself he shook enough to make the boat ripple in the water. He compromised in the end by forcing himself to relax, and kept one hand firmly on the edge of the boat, in a white knuckled grip.

So it wasn't until he was firmly on solid ground that he was relaxed enough to recognize the scents wafting past his dulled human nose. _Giant?_ he blinked. _I'm supposed to study with giants? Are there goblins here too? Elves?_ There was a lot of fear, he realized. A lot more than just his own. And only one giant. He'd been given the impression only humans studied at Hogwarts - he'd been told in no uncertain terms that he was not to be seen Changing, not even the tiniest little bit, and what reason could there be for that unless only humans were allowed inside?

He was herded inside with the others, and tried not to twitch at the unreal sky overhead. Then they were presented to a battered old hat, which he found insulting right up to the point where it started singing.

Marrok spent the song trying to decide whether it was easier, in the long run, to get out of here as fast as possible so his father could rip his throat out, or if it'd be less painful to stay here with singing hats and unreal skies and - he realized as he took in his surroundings - ghosts. Consequently he completely missed the song's purpose, and in fact was only startled out of his worries when his name was called - "Marrok Urlachson!"

He startled very badly - worse when he realized he was standing alone on the floor. Gingerly he stepped toward the woman who had called his name, and she peremptorily gestured him toward the stool. He sat down and stifled a sneeze - someone had cat fur on their robes nearby, which always got up his nose. The hat was thunked down over his head, and he froze solid when a voice spoke in his mind.

_Well well well. It's been a while since one of your family came here. Where shall I put you?_

Marrok swallowed hard. - I'm supposed to become stronger.

_Well, there's lots of ways to do that. There's not a half bad mind in here, yes, and dedication, and courage..._

Marrok wondered why anyone would believe such an obviously deluded piece of cloth. He was fighting down an urge to make a run for the doors, which didn't strike him as being all that brave or intelligent. But he wouldn't let the pack down. He would stay wherever the talking hat put him and he would succeed. Just like Bardulf had solved the puzzle of the money. He _would_ be Alpha one day!

_Well, thank you for making my job easier_, came the wryly amused reply from the hat. _Better put you in_ "SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was jerked off his head and a table full of people wearing green and silver were applauding. Marrok took that to mean that was where he was to go.

He wondered why some of the adults at the high table looked disappointed. Surely the teaching hadn't started yet?


	2. Slytherin Alpha

The first night was the hardest.

Upperclassmen, Marrok found, regarded first year students as a pack of omegas, there only to amuse. Uncomfortably full of overcooked meat, Marrok had no trouble hearing them lay bets among themselves over which boys and girls would cry the loudest for their mummies as they went to bed.

Marrok didn't cry. Wolves never wept. No, he had other problems.

Like the stone ceiling that he kept feeling was about to fall on him and crush him. Like the unnatural requirement of sleeping in manshape, on his back. Like the alien textures of sheets and pillows and blankets and the false security of bedclothes. Like the absence of his packmates, the warmth of their bodies and their weight all around him and their scents in his nose.

That was when it hit him, what he'd done in coming here. He was alone. This place, this group, these Slytherin...these were his pack now.

He stared at the stone ceiling, wishing it was sky, and wondered - _if this is a pack, who is the alpha? What are the rankings?_

He mulled over what he knew and could guess, from dinner and from the groupings he'd seen. The Quidditch players, they had the highest status. He had no idea what Quidditch was - he guessed it a game simply from the pattern of talk - but the ones who 'played on the team' were given more space than others. But that was still too many people. Packs answered to one Alpha, or one mated Alpha pair.

_Obey your alpha._ It was the first rule of the pack. In a lot of ways it was the _only_ rule of the pack. To disobey was to challenge; to lose was to be punished or killed. So...who was Slytherin Alpha?

It was no one in the common room, he was sure. Alphas stood apart from the pack, to watch over it and lead it. Urlach liked to sit up high, on fallen trees or tall rocks. Everyone in the common room had been in at least pairs, more often larger groups, and none of them looked like anything so much as allied groups.

He started suspecting there wasn't one right about the time the silence around him got very busy.

Marrok surprised several upperclassman by not making a single sound when he opened his eyes to find them surrounding his bed, preparatory to a first-year initiation ceremony. At least, they would have been surprised if they'd had time. To all appearances, Marrok went from sleeping to wide awake and trying to claw Adrian Pucey's eyes out in less than a second.

It took several spells, some minutes later, to separate Marrok's teeth from Terrence Higgs' shin.

That was when he found out who the alpha of Slytherin was.

And memorized the name of Severus Snape.

* * *

"So," said the Potions Master, sitting - in Marrok's opinion - far too close to him. The office - and Snape - stank of potions and potion ingredients. And wolfsbane. He gave Snape a sudden, sharp look - but while he was too close for his nose's sake, he was too far for Marrok to clearly read his expression. "A werewolf in Hogwarts. A werewolf in Slytherin."

Marrok moved to stand - and saw the blur that was Snape point an object at him. "Sit down, mister Urlachson," ordered Snape. "I do not wish to bind you to that chair as it would impede your ability to answer my questions - but do not doubt I will do so if you give me cause. And you will find yourself expelled by morning."

Marrok froze, moved carefully back down into his seat. It was time to choose the lesser evil - and whatever this wolfsbane-coated man might do to him, it could not be as bad as what his father would do if he were to be expelled.

"That's better," said Snape, but the wand didn't move. "Now - I have werewolf-bitten Slytherin in my House. Tell me, mister Urlachson, does your bite confer lycanthropy?"

Marrok blinked. "Confer lycanthropy?"

The wand twitched. "Do not toy with me, mister Urlachson," growled Snape. "Do people you bite become werewolves?"

"Oh," said Marrok. He was on firm ground with this - his pack had already told him what to say. "No, Professor Snape. It would be better to think of me as a wolf-Animagus, not a werewolf as you understand the term."

The blur moved, gathered something - Marrok's nose informed him that it was certainly wolfsbane. "Is that so...mister Urlachson," drawled the Potions Master. "But a wolf Animagus would have nothing to fear from wolfsbane, would he..."

_Ugh_ - the stuff smelled _terrible_; it was impossible to think that Snape could possibly possess so stunted a sense of smell. He leaned away from the stench reflexively - Snape darted forward and pressed the plant against his skin.

Marrok tried to endure it as long as he could, but in the end he had to jerk his arm away to scratch at it; the skin where the plant had touched was hot and red and itchy. "I'm allergic to wolfsbane," he growled in a surly way. "But that doesn't mean the boy I bit will be a werewolf. It doesn't work like that."

"Hmmm...." said Snape, holding Marrok's arm in an iron grip. "Allergic. Interesting." Abruptly he let Marrok go and returned to his own seat behind his desk. "Why should I believe you, mister Urlachson?"

The night was late, and Marrok was tired. "We - my pack - we don't change with the full moon. The moon doesn't affect us at all."

"Your...pack," noted Snape quietly. "And you're allergic to wolfsbane. I wonder, are you allergic to silver as well?"

Marrok was about to snap that he had no idea, when he realized that this would simply mean Snape had an excuse to press silver on him or try to cut him with silver. Given the uncomfortable heat in his right arm, he didn't feel up to any more 'experimentation'. So he only repeated, "He won't become a werewolf."

Snape's arms moved; Marrok thought maybe the man was steepling his fingers. "I am required by Dumbledore to keep your secret, Marrok," he said mildly. "I may not inform mister Higgs or any of your other playmates that you are a werewolf." A hint of sarcastic amusement entered his voice as he continued, "Doubtless Dumbledore worries that it would interfere with your studies. However, mister Urlachson, if I should ever hear of you biting another student again, in any shape, I will personally guarantee that you are expelled. Is that clear?"

Marrok bowed his head, keeping his eyes on the floor to indicate his submission. Professor Snape was his Alpha here, he understood now. _But you will never be worthy of the respect given to a true Alpha. True alphas don't sneak!_ Snape should have been in the common room earlier. He should have been keeping order...

_Unless this is all play,_ Marrok realized. If the boys had been playing, then naturally the Alpha would not interfere. Pup games would be beneath his notice.

It was late, and he was tired and very confused. So when he was dismissed he simply obeyed, trundling at Snape's side back to the Slytherin common room where Terrence Higgs was already making much of the fact that "the little bugger _bit_ me!"

Marrok was so tired from his fight and the adventures of the day that, manshape or not, when he hit the sheets this time he was asleep almost as soon as he'd pulled the covers around him. He was without fur, and the castle was cold.


End file.
